


King Me

by RenderedReversed



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: "tfw ur haunted by a cute ghost" Thor, Alternate Universe - Yu-Gi-Oh! Fusion, Duel Monsters, Ghost Loki, High School, M/M, Possession, Reincarnation, Season Zero AU, Sennen Items | Millennium Items, Sharing a Body, Thorki Big Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: Thor has always liked games. So when his absentee father sends him an ancient, unsolvable puzzle as a souvenir from one of his digs, he decides, why not?Only, the Millennium Puzzle seems to have come along with a friend—a spirit with bright eyes and dark intentions, who seems to possess a great and terrible control over the shadows while wielding them with a flick of his finger...So naturally, Thor bonds with him and calls him Loki. As one does with pretty ghost boys.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 98
Collections: Marvel, Thorki Big Bang 2019





	King Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Awsomeangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awsomeangel/gifts).



> Art by the supreme cutiepie [Tianshi](https://tengokua.tumblr.com/post/189204676057/my-entry-for-the-thorki-big-bang-based-off-of)! All her art is as cute as she is, so please check her out!! <3
> 
> With our combined powers we enable each other and radiate Maximum Weeb(TM) vibes

#### A Yu-Gi-Oh! Season Zero AU

[ ](https://tengokua.tumblr.com/post/189204676057/my-entry-for-the-thorki-big-bang-based-off-of)

* * *

Thor has always liked games.

From puzzles to cards to chess to board games, video games…Thor likes them all. It’s no wonder, really—he lives above a _game shop_. Between an absent father and a somewhat stiff uncle, games had been and still are his cure to loneliness. Even playing all by himself isn’t too bad as long as he’s got a deck of cards.

Odin, though he hasn’t seen his son for a good couple of years, at least still remembers that much about Thor. His most recent archaeological dig had sent him to a Viking shipwreck, where they’d unearthed all kinds of treasures. He’d sent one back to Thor called the ‘Millennium Puzzle’—an unsolvable puzzle aptly named for being over a thousand years old.

And now, Thor’s almost solved it.

Up in his small room in the attic, Thor sits hunched over at his desk. He’s been working on this every day after school for the past 3 weeks—could barely get through basketball practice without getting distracted thinking about it.

At first, the strange gold metallic pieces were cold and unyielding under his fingertips, reluctant to part with their mystery. Over time, however, the shape of the puzzle had finally begun to take form: a pyramid shape with an odd hook at the top, as if it were meant to be worn like a necklace…

Finally, Thor’s hands scrape the bottom of the box. There’s only one piece left.

Unlike all the other smooth, undecorated pieces, this one has the shape of a snake biting its tail sculpted into the gold. What did they call these again? Thor was sure he’d heard of it before.

An ouroboros.

He thumbs over the snake. Its scales are remarkably well-crafted; even the eye has a thin slit detailing for the pupil.

Thor clicks the piece into place, right in the center of the pyramid’s face.

He smiles. Finally finished.

Normally he would keep it as a display on his desk, but it really does look like it’s meant to be worn—even if it’s a little big and clunky. Maybe that was the fashion back then? It’d be a waste not to wear it, at least once. Regardless, one doesn’t simply spend 3 weeks straight working on something and _not_ get a little attached.

Maybe Heimdall has a chain or a string or something that he can use.

Thor runs downstairs to ask.

* * *

For as long as he’s ever known, he’s lived in darkness.

He doesn’t exactly _know_ how he knows its darkness—shadows, the absence of light—without knowing what it’s like to live in the light, but he imagines it’s anything better than this. Cold. Black. Shifting movements at the corner of his vision, but no way to turn or look or differentiate between the spaces.

It’s lonely. He thinks it wasn’t always this way, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t remember a time when it wasn’t. Eventually, he just stops trying at all.

And then, there’s something warm, something different, pressing against the walls to his prison.

The spirit’s consciousness stirs. It must’ve been a mistake—a phantom feeling. All in his head…

But there it is again. And again. And again. Every day like clockwork, warm hands cradling him so careful and so good that he nearly cries when they go away. Will they come back? He never knows, but they do and they do and they do, and slowly, the spirit begins to hope again.

 _Yes,_ he thinks. _Yes. If it’s you, then…_

_You can solve it. My masterpiece. My puzzle._

The last piece clicks into place, and for the first time, the spirit sees something other than the darkness—a warm, smiling face, gentle and adoring.

He wonders if it’s the sun.

* * *

Something weird has been going on around school.

Thor doesn’t think too hard on it at first, but it’s inevitable that he notices. Everything’s just too unexplainable not to.

Take, for example, the other day during math class. He’d bombed the exam because he’d stayed up too late working on the puzzle—totally, one hundred percent his fault—and the teacher had pulled him aside at lunch, given him a very disappointed look, and gave him a stern talking-to. It was the usual, really. He was an athlete, but he shouldn’t forget about his studies. Thor normally got good grades, but it wasn’t far enough in the semester that he could afford to let them slip, and if he needed a tutor then he needed to speak up. The teacher would give him one chance to take a makeup exam. Etcetera.

Honestly, Thor had kind of zoned out at some point. Yeah, he _felt_ bad, but…

And then the very next day, Mr. Capizzi couldn’t look him in the eye. Apologized to him profusely. When Thor had walked away with a confused look and a simple "no problem", he could’ve sworn his teacher had been shaking.

But that’s not the only time.

There’s Jake from basketball. Aka from gym class. Portia from the cheerleading team. They all start avoiding him like he’s scary or something. Sure, they’d never been particularly close from Thor’s point of view, but it’s not like they’d been rude to each other, either…

He asks Bruce on their way to D&D night at Thor’s house if he’d done anything to offend anyone lately.

Bruce gives him a weird look. "You think I’m the best person to ask for that?"

Thor shrugs. It’s not like he has a lot of friends.

"Wow, so many people would be offended if you said that to them," his friend remarks dryly. "Maybe ask Nat? She’s part of the popular clique, too."

But Nat doesn’t have an answer for him, either.

Clint shrugs. "Why worry about it? Jake’s an ass, Aka’s kinda weird, and Portia…please tell me you don’t have a crush on Portia. She’s so— _clingy_."

"And Capizzi?" Thor asks, amused.

"Eh, you don’t need math anyway."

"Excuse me?" Tony’s brow flies up to his hairline. "Get out of my house, Barton. Science bros _only_."

"I said math! And this is Thor’s house!"

"Yeah, and _science goes with math_! How the hell are you part of the archery club if you hate math, Jesus, aren’t you all about calculating trajectories and shit—"

"Settle down, children," Natasha drawls, but her mouth curves like she’s enjoying it.

Thor smiles helplessly. For what it’s worth, playing Dungeons and Dragons with his friends distracts him well enough. He fidgets with the puzzle around his neck as Bruce finishes calculating the result of his last dice roll. There’s an unusually crafty smile on his face—never a good sign when the DM looks like _that_.

"I’ll go get us some more drinks," he says.

Sounds of acknowledgement go around the table. As Thor heads for the kitchen, Bruce clears his throat and begins announcing what dastardly crisis has befallen them this time.

Thor’s halfway through the realization that he _might_ not be able to carry this many cans of soda back himself when Tony comes up beside him.

"Thought you could use some help," he says.

Thor gratefully hands off some of his baggage. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem." But Tony dithers for a moment, not making a move back towards their friends. Thor frowns and waits.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. Just—" Tony’s eyes slide towards the center of his chest. "That’s a nice necklace you got there. Where’d you say it’s from?"

"Oh, dad sent it from his latest excavation. Apparently they found some Viking shipwreck, and this was in one of the crates."

"Viking shipwreck," Tony echoes. "Right, okay. Okay, alright, that’s—cool."

Thor smiles uncertainly. "Yeah?"

"It’s just…" But Tony never tells him _what’s_ ‘just’. He trails off. "Nah, nothing. I uh, know your dad doesn’t do that a lot." He pauses, then smiles back. "I’m happy for you."

That, at least, sounds sincere. If anyone knows anything about estranged father figures, it’s Tony. That’s how they met, after all—starting the ‘dads who can’t give a damn’ club in the days of the old sandbox.

Thor bumps shoulders with him. "Thanks. Ready to head back?"

"Sure. Y’know apparently, we’ve just caused the apocalypse."

"Zombies?"

" _Worse_. Clint just called the Four Horsemen using his Rod of Ar’n Jinni. He’s bartering with them right now."

Thor grins. "Well, better hurry then."

Later that night, when all his friends are gone and the world is decidedly not destroyed yet, Thor flops on his bed with nothing but his thoughts for company. He fidgets with the puzzle around his neck. It’s a surprisingly easy weight to get accustomed to. The more he wears it, the more he likes it, but it _is_ kind of too pointy to sleep with. Someone could lose an eye, or Thor could lose a rib.

Thor takes it off and sets it on the end table beside him.

Come to think of it, didn’t all the weird stuff only start to happen after he solved it…?

Thor yawns. Nah. Must be a coincidence.

* * *

After a particularly grueling practice, Thor starts to think with a sinking feeling that it might _not_ be a coincidence.

Their coach disappears for three days. When he comes back, his face is pale like the moonlight, and he looks at Thor with thinly veiled terror in his eyes.

"I-I’m sorry, Borson," he says stiltedly, keeping a distance of no less than 1.5 meters between them, "but I think, for your grades, yes, for the sake of your grades, it’s better if you…leave the team."

"What?" Thor shouts incredulously. His coach flinches. "I mean—coach, my grades are fine, the season’s just started, I can’t just le—"

"I’msorrybutIcan’thaveyouendangeringthehealthofourteam so please leave!"

It’s a sight to behold, to see his sturdy, stone-faced coach near cowering behind his desk. Thor stares.

Yeah, something is seriously going on here.

He’s going to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

The captain of Marvel High’s varsity basketball team is a senior who Thor respects a lot. Hardworking, friendly, always willing to help others, and one hell of a leader—it’ll be a loss for the entire team when Steve graduates.

Yeah, a loss for the team that Thor’s _apparently not on anymore_.

For what it’s worth, Steve looks guilty—but he too maintains the 1.5 meters distance.

"Look, Thor," his old captain says, and then pauses. "Have you been…doing alright? Anything weird going on in your life? Anything bothering you?"

"Weird. Sure. Let’s call it weird—like being randomly kicked off the team at the beginning of the season type-of-weird."

Steve winces. They watch Thor’s replacement, some sophomore Thor thinks is named Brad, stumble awkwardly on the court. There’s no synergy with the team at all. Thor just _doesn’t understand_.

Frustrated, he blurts, "Captain, would you just tell me what’s going on?"

"Thor, half the team is scared of you."

Thor turns to look at him in shock.

Steve sighs hard. "Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but…until you’ve got your anger issues under control, you just can’t be on the team. It’s dangerous. Basketball may be a non-contact sport, but no one’s even comfortable standing next to you, never mind guarding you. How are we going to practice like that? And if we go to a game and you get mad at a guy…"

He trails off. Thor can’t believe what he’s hearing.

"You think I have _anger issues_?"

Steve, senior Steve, regularly stands up to guys bulkier and taller than him who could run him over like a truck _Captain Steve Rogers_ , flinches.

Thor is speechless. Eventually, he swallows and says, "Yeah. Okay. I get it."

"You get it? Really?"

"Yeah," says Thor. "I’ll uh…take care of it."

Steve sags, visibly relieved. "I knew you’d understand. You’re a good player, Thor. I really do want you back on the team."

At least, that much Thor believes, but when Steve reaches over to give Thor a pat on the back like he normally would, he stops and yanks his hand back like the devil’d gotten to him.

"Haha," his old captain says, and tries to play it off like he was picking off a piece of lint—deliberately not touching Thor in any way possible. "Well, gotta go. Practice. For the upcoming game. You know how it is."

"Thanks Captain," Thor says. Even to himself he doesn’t sound all that grateful.

But Steve doesn’t comment a thing. "See you around!" he shouts, and scampers as far as he can get away.

* * *

Thor’s Google search history looks something like this:

_How to tell if you suddenly developed anger issues_

_How to tell if you have bipolar personality disorder_

_What do you do when you think you have bipolar personality disorder_

_Bipolar personality disorder vs possession_

_What’s the difference between schizophrenia and being possessed_

_What do you do if you’re being possessed_

Most threads recommend salt. Rosemary. Calling in a member of the church or an exorcist. That last one sounds kind of like drastic measures—he doesn’t really want to explain to his uncle why he needs an exorcism, for one. For two, he’s a high school student. Asking for the money to pay for that might get him put into a mental hospital—or worse:

His dad might find out.

Another post says, _locate the ghost. Ghosts are usually bound to old objects or places with a history. Are you wearing any jewelry you inherited when you go out, or have any momentos you keep in your wallet?_

Slowly, Thor looks down at his chest. The shiny gold of the Millennium Puzzle winks up at him.

 _Caution_ , the post continues. _RESIST INSTINCTS. DO NOT THROW IT AWAY IMMEDIATELY. The ghost can and will get mad at you. Haunted objects must be disposed of properly by either an exorcism, putting the ghost to rest, or an equivalent karmic exchange. If the ghost is aggressive, call in a professional._

"Thanks, Reddit," Thor mutters.

So he’s potentially being haunted by a thousand-year-old ghost. That’ll help him sleep at night.

Well, at least he’s not the bank robbers from the news yesterday. Imagine getting beaten up by a gang of vigilantes in plastic masks—where did they get that idea from, a comic book?

* * *

His uncle might be a little socially stiff, but he does care. And try.

"Everything going alright at school?" Heimdall asks carefully. See? Trying. "You’ve been coming home early these days."

"Yeah," says Thor. He suddenly finds dinner very interesting. The pasta twirls around the tines of his fork. "Been okay. But I uh…left the team. Basketball. Basketball team. The one with the hoops."

"Ah," says Heimdall. He nods slowly like he understands.

Thor’s pretty sure Heimdall is the older sibling between he and his dad and was actually born before basketball was even invented—so like, over 130 years ago. His uncle might be a reigning champ at every deckbuilding game to ever exist, but he doesn’t know sports to save his life. Show him a golf ball and he’d probably motion cluelessly towards the bats.

"And are you happy with that decision?" Heimdall asks.

Thor winces. "Peachy keen," he lies. "It uh, gives me more time to spend with my friends. And I’ll have more time to help out around the shop when I didn’t before, so…"

Heimdall slowly nods again. "Well," he says, ancient and old, "If that is your decision. But know that it is also fine to explore and try new things. Youth is about the discovery of passion, after all. Neither I nor your father would like to see you overburden yourself with responsibility."

"I know, Uncle," Thor says.

They go back to their pasta. Thor doesn’t feel so hungry anymore.

"I’ll go wash the dishes," he declares, standing. His chair scrapes against the tile floor.

"Thor?"

Thor stops. He turns around.

His uncle taps his chest, right where the Millennium Puzzle hangs over Thor’s, and gifts him with a rare smile. "It looks good on you," he says.

Thor smiles back, an inch more genuine than before. "Thanks."

* * *

So how does one go about talking to a ghost, anyway?

Thor clears his throat. He stares hard. The Millennium Puzzle is immobile, just innocently sitting on his desk, and it makes him think, for a moment, that he has to be wrong. It doesn’t _feel_ creepy—not like what it’s like in all those ghost stories people tell, or the horror movies where the haunted doll is so obvious even the blonde girl can figure it out.

Thor pauses.

 _He’s_ blond.

That’s…that’s not a sign of anything, right…

Thor squints. Well, only one way to find out.

"Hello?" he asks tentatively. "Mr. Ghost? Err, suppose it could be Ms. Ghost. Mrs. Or gender neutral! Ghost. Hello?"

Pause. Nothing.

"Am I crazy? If…if I’m _not_ crazy, could you give me some kind of, um, sign?"

Still nothing. Maybe he really should’ve invested into an Ouija board…

Thor buries his head in his hands and groans. "Definitely insane. There’s no such thing as ghosts, why did I even try? I just…"

He reaches out to touch the cold metal, turning it over in his hands. It really doesn’t feel cursed, even though logically it checks all the boxes. Thor just can’t bring himself to be scared of it. He can be frustrated, confused, tired, upset…but not scared.

Despite himself, a smile finds its way to his lips.

The Millennium Puzzle calms him.

"It’s alright," he tells it quietly. "I don’t think you’ve done anything bad. I just wish I knew what was going on."

Suddenly, Thor stiffens. He’s not alone.

It takes a bit of time to see it properly. ‘It’ is what fades into view—first just a vague shape, slowly coalescing, searching for its form. Thor makes out a head, shoulders, arms—

He sets the Millennium Puzzle down on his desk and slowly backs up. The specter begins to gain definition, inch by agonizing inch, and then, soon enough, before him sits a boy no older than him, legs splayed indolently with a certain languid slouch to his posture. Long, curling dark hair flows down his shoulders. His eyes, half-lidded, shine green like cat eyes in the night.

Thor thinks this is totally unfair. No one ever told him ghosts could be _pretty_.

But there he sits on Thor’s cramped little desk, looking like something straight out of a renaissance painting. Give him a chaise, a glass of wine in one hand and a maid feeding him grapes at the other…

 _Thor_ would feed him the grapes. Thor would feed him _all_ the grapes.

"It’s an honor to meet you, Host," the ghost says, smiling pleasantly. And there’s no mistaking that he _is_ a ghost. Thor can see straight through to the posters on his wall behind him, like Casper, or, or Nearly-Headless Nick.

Thor’s big gay blond brain short-circuits. _Okay; ghost, but boy_ , he thinks, still gaping. _Cute boy_.

The ghost tilts his head. "Or perhaps you would prefer ‘master’?"

He seems genuinely concerned about that. It’s almost too much to process. Maybe Thor’s dreaming?

"Uh," says Thor. "You’re—the ghost that’s been haunting me?"

The ghost’s mouth twists into a moue. "Haunting implies…malignance. I am the spirit that resides within the Millennium Puzzle, and you who solved it are its owner—my host."

…Okay. Thor can handle this. He’s spent too many hours trawling through nosleep subreddit posts to _not_ be able to handle this.

"Have you been possessing my body?"

Alright okay maybe he can’t handle this. That probably wasn’t the best way to phrase that.

The spirit blinks and then _—too close okay way too close woah_. Thor leans back a little bit, but the spirit doesn’t seem angry.

"There were bad people," the spirit says. "Clogging up the space around you—polluting the air you breathed."

The spirit’s lips curl, baring his white teeth.

"So I gave them a bit of a scare; made sure they’ll think twice before bothering you again."

Thor shivers. "What did you do to them?"

"Oh, not much," says the spirit. "I sent them on a little visit to the Shadow Realm, is all. They didn’t hurt you, so I let them go…with a warning. Most only lasted a few minutes—except _one_. That one needed to be taught a little more."

His expression darkened.

"For bullying you."

"Bullying?" Thor blinks rapidly, trying to keep up. "Wait a second, are you talking about my coach? That wasn’t bullying, he was just doing his job!"

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice that much, but it’s enough to make the spirit recoil, his expression falling into one of confusion and dismay.

"Have I upset you?"

Thor’s heart pangs. All the stories say supernatural beings are liars, actors—that they’ll do anything to get their way. But _this_ ghost’s reactions are too earnest for that. No, he just…

Maybe he really did just want to help Thor.

"Look," Thor says, softening his voice, "I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, but the people you frightened—they really didn’t mean any harm at all. Mr. Capizzi was just looking out for me, and Coach treats _everyone_ like that. It’s to make us...better. Stronger."

The spirit looks a little doubtful still, but at least seems to be listening.

"And I don’t know what my classmates did that made you think they were out to get me," Thor continues, "but I promise they didn’t mean anything by it. You spent a long time alone in that puzzle, didn’t you? The world’s probably a lot different now. The people, too."

"Ah…" The ghost lowers his head. It almost looks like he’s _sulking_.

"And uh, could you maybe not possess me so often? I’m not really fond of losing my memory all the time."

The spirit lifts his head. "As long as that is your wish, I’ll obey," he says seriously.

Thor is suddenly struck by the image of magical lamps, flying carpets, and wish-granting genies. He glances at the puzzle. "You’re not a genie, right?"

"…I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. Glad we got that cleared up." Thor coughs awkwardly. "I’m Thor, by the way. You don’t…have to call me host, or anything like that."

The spirit tilts his head. "I’ll keep that in mind, Host."

Riiight. Well. Baby steps.

"So," Thor says, stops, then restarts, "So let’s get this straight: no sending people to the, er, Shadow Realm, please."

"At _all_?" The spirit looks distressed by this. "But what if they’re trying to hurt you? If you get hurt, then—"

Ah, Thor realizes. The _puzzle_. Right; if he gets hurt, then the Millennium Puzzle might get harmed, too. Since that’s the spirit’s ‘home’, it only makes sense that he’s worried about it.

"Well, okay, there can be exceptions," Thor allows, because the world isn’t completely safe, and maybe wearing a gold necklace all the time isn’t the brightest plan to not getting robbed, "but you have to run it by me first. For the most part, though, the people at my school are off-limits."

He puts on a strict face. "Got that?"

Though reluctant, the spirit nods his head. "I understand."

"Great!" Thor smiles. See, easy peasy. No need to call in the exorcist at all. "I didn’t disturb you, did I? By solving the puzzle. Like, did I wake you up, or…?"

The spirit looks at him contemplatively. Then, he turns, scooting close to Thor’s side instead of in front of him. For a moment, his hand touches his, but it goes right through.

"No," the spirit says quietly, "you didn’t. It was…very dark in there. And cold."

Thor’s throat feels tight. He doesn’t know what to say.

But the spirit does it for him. He turns his head up and smiles, soft and lovely and all for Thor. "So when you picked me up, I was very grateful. That’s why I’ll do my utmost to protect you."

Thor’s heart nearly stops beating in his chest. The spirit of the Millennium Puzzle appears rather simpleminded and sweet. Besides some of his more…questionable sense of morals, which yeah, anyone might have lost a few screws if they were trapped in a crate at the bottom of the ocean for all these years, he doesn’t _seem_ unreasonable. Thor melts. That’s right; who said ghosts were only in horror movies?

"Were you there while I was solving the puzzle? The entire time?"

"Yes," the spirit says. "Not just anyone can solve the Millennium Puzzle—you must convince it you are worthy by having an old soul and a kind heart. Dedicated. Inquisitive. Clever and persistent. The Millennium Puzzle has accepted you. As such, for as long as you own it, I’ll be by your side to support you."

Thor’s heart skips a beat.

"For now, if that will be all," the spirit murmurs, bowing his head, "the hour grows late. I’ll leave you to your rest. Please summon me as you like, Host."

The spirit fades, but at the fringes of his consciousness he can feel another presence there that wasn’t before—protective and reverent and gentle as it brushes against him.

When Thor looks down at his chest, he sees the Millennium Puzzle dangling from its thick cord.

* * *

His host is a _numbskull_.

Well, alright, that’s not completely fair to say. Correction: his host _severely lacks a sense of self preservation_.

The spirit sees it, watching all through the Millennium Puzzle. He’s careful, so careful, not to alert his host of his presence—these things need planning, and the spirit isn’t quite ready yet for that reveal. Instead he protects in the shadows, getting rid of whoever disparages his host or says any nasty things about him.

His host wears the Millennium Puzzle throughout the majority of the day, but there are several times he takes it off for some stretch of time. It’s almost like being put back into the darkness—without his host, there’s no light, no warmth, no anything; just him and the shadows, all alone…

He fears for a moment that his host is never coming back at all. The longer the time stretches, the more panicked the spirit grows.

And then, his host comes back.

He puts the Millennium Puzzle back on and the spirit near sobs in relief. He rushes forward, eager to find what kept him from his host and _put an end to it_. Maybe he’s a little too hasty, but it seems his host is near dead on his feet—that won’t do, no, absolutely not, but it serves the spirit’s purposes just fine for now.

"Geez, Coach felt like he had something against us today," his host says, groaning. "I feel like my blisters have blisters."

"Yeah," someone agrees. "I think he’s worried about the first game? We’re against Kree High after all. They’re top seed…"

The spirit watches and listens. As the protector of a silly host, he must be diligent and alert.

But for now—

He waits until his host separates from the rest before taking control. It’s easy, even easier than the times before. The spirit frowns and takes note of that too. He’ll make sure his host gets a good sleep tonight. Nothing but the best for his host.

‘Coach’ is a rude, rude man. He doesn’t pay his host the respect he _deserves_. It infuriates the spirit. Mortals like these—

Mortals like these need to be taught a _proper_ lesson.

The shadows swarm in excitement. _Fresh meat?_ They ask, begging, _fresh meat?_ The spirit hasn’t fed them yet. All his targets have been nothing but a tease; after all, if he sends everyone to the Shadow Realm, who will be left to worship his host?

This one…the spirit considers it.

 _No_ , he tells them softly, _not yet. Not this one. He can serve as a warning to everyone else harboring…thoughts._

The shadows wriggle. They’re impatient.

 _We’ll find food for you soon,_ he assures. _Bad men are coming._ Very _bad men. They can’t resist us, after all. They desire our power to use as their own._

 _Bad men_ , the shadows whisper back. _Yes, bad men. Must punish. Trap them in a penalty game!_

The spirit smiles. He caresses one shadow that crests up beneath his hand. _Protect the host_ , he tells them.

 _Protect, protect, protect…_ they whisper back.

And it’s good enough. Three days later, they release Coach back from the Shadow Realm. His eyes are unfocused, and he flinches at everything.

The spirit, in his host’s body, smiles. "Take this as a lesson," his host’s voice says. "Make sure you spread it well. After all, it wouldn’t do for anyone else to…slip."

Coach nods frantically. It’ll suffice, he supposes.

Now he has to plan for meeting his host.

The spirit knows he must do everything in his power to ensure his host keeps him. He can’t go back to that awful prison—he just can’t. Not after experiencing the sweet ambrosia of daylight and a warm touch—no, only his host will do.

Technically he should be impartial. The Millennium Puzzle only seeks those who fulfills its requirements. His current host may own it now, but that doesn’t mean he always will.

But.

The spirit’s grown a little attached.

If it’s not his host—

Well. A sharp, toothy grin blooms on his face.

If it’s not his host, he’ll deal with them _properly_.

His host is kind. Most likely he wouldn’t approve. He’d get scared if the spirit showed him his true nature—so he won’t. He plans it perfectly. Appear docile and subservient; beg if he must—he must ensure his host doesn’t abandon him. Doesn’t leave him. And his silly host is so easy to trick…

There’s a little bump in the road where he might’ve gone a bit…overboard, but the spirit smooths that out quick. He’ll err on the side of caution now and restrain himself. No more shadow games unless the person really, really deserves it. (No more shadow games unless his host won’t know.) He can always change his host’s mindset later—lead him to the truth, that he should be worshipped and feared and respected, that anyone who offends him should be struck down by a bolt of lightning (or _pulled down_ by their very own shadow).

It’s not like the spirit is lying. Everything he says is the truth.

But if his host sees him as a _little_ more harmless than he actually is, well.

He’ll leave that up to creative interpretation.

* * *

If someone ever told Thor that one day, he’d have a little voice in his head and _not_ be crazy, he’d have told them they were crazy enough for the both of them.

Funny how life changes.

Actually, nothing much, exactly, changes. Things mostly go back to normal. People are still scared of him, of course, and he’s still kicked off the team, but the longer Thor goes without an ‘incident’, the more people start to trust him again.

And if that wasn’t enough, he now has a personal Siri in his head. Though it doesn’t answer trivia questions all too well, the spirit does, on more than one occasion, like to make witty quips instead.

 _"Who buys 20 watermelons in one shopping trip?"_ Loki complains, _"And they don’t even have servants to carry them? That just sounds like bad planning."_

Thor snorts.

He’s still not the best at replying in his head—something about the boundary between their consciousness making not all his thoughts go through unless he _really_ thinks them across—so he stays quiet. The quiz won’t solve itself.

Loki seems to know he’s listening, anyway.

 _"It looks like you drew a burial urn,"_ he remarks.

Okay, _that one_ —

 _"Don’t judge my drawing skills,"_ Thor thinks hard, pushing it at the spirit. _"It’s supposed to be a washer."_

_"A washer?"_

_"Coin with a hole in the middle. I think they’re used for screwing bolts in or something."_

Loki hums.

So, yeah. It’s like having a friend live in his head. The spirit hasn’t actually materialized again, but he talks to Thor when Thor’s feeling lonely, calms him down whenever he gets frustrated…

It’s nice. Just your friendly neighborhood ghost.

Oh, right. The thing is, the spirit doesn’t really have a name. Thor had spent evening after evening right before bed trying to come up with one. He couldn’t really keep calling him ‘the spirit’ all the time—that just seems a little too distant and objective, especially since it’s clear the spirit has thoughts and personality of his own.

Finally, he decides on Loki.

It fits. Loki sure had caused some chaos when he first arrived, and he’s got a bit of a flare for mischief, too. Privately, Thor adds, that way their names match. Loki and Thor. Thor and Loki. It sounds good.

So he starts to call the spirit Loki in his head.

Thor finds out that Loki’s a fast learner. He pays attention in Thor’s classes. For example, when his history teacher had called his name and Thor hadn’t even heard the question, Loki had whispered,

_"Zoroastrianism."_

"Uh," Thor says, "Zoroastrianism?"

He’s right. Confused still, but right.

 _"How did you know that?"_ Thor thinks at him.

Loki, sly, does the equivalent of an innocent shrug. _"Saw it in the book you were reading yesterday."_

_"My history textbook?"_

" _Mmhm."_

_"I’m pretty sure there was like, only a sentence about Zoroastrianism, though."_

_"Apparently it was an important_ _sentence,"_ Loki says dryly.

So _that’s_ a thing. Thor thinks of a million ways he can misuse this new powerful pocket dictionary he’s been given. He doesn’t particularly _want_ to cheat on tests, though…

Loki takes his concerns seriously. He _always_ takes Thor’s concerns seriously.

 _"I can restrain myself, if you like,"_ he says.

Thor winces. He’d thought that pretty loud, then.

_"Just…not on anything that’ll give me a grade. Like quizzes or exams. I won’t learn anything that way."_

_"How diligent,"_ Loki says. Thor can’t tell if he’s pleased or not. _"Alright. As my host wishes."_

All-in-all, the Millennium Puzzle has only brought good things to his life. Thor smiles, thumb caressing the cool gold of a corner piece.

He’ll have to thank his dad when he sees him again.

* * *

Thor doesn’t know when he’d gotten so attached, but he kind of is.

It’s like an addiction, feeling Loki’s consciousness pressed against his, or how it blends when their minds meld. When Loki whispers in his mind and it feels right at home, or when Thor tells a joke and laughter flutters across the bond.

Or when Loki manifests just to hang around. Thor wishes he’d do that last one more often. He likes to see Loki’s expressions as he feels them echo across their bond—like haptic feedback except for feelings, more than anything he’d ever felt with anyone. They may not be able to touch, but somehow, they’ve developed ways to work around it.

The spirit of the Millennium Puzzle has well and truly become his friend. Thor doesn’t like the idea of _not_ having him around.

It’s only expected that he slips up at some point.

"Hey Loki," says Thor out of the blue, "can ghosts play card games?"

Loki is quiet. From the other end of the bond comes a ripple of confusion, and then a start of realization—which echoes right back as Thor realizes what he’d just said.

"I mean—"

The spirit interrupts him. _"Did you…name me?"_

Thor flushes brighter than the red of his school jersey. "I just thought—it was weird to keep calling you ‘spirit’ all the time—I didn’t mean to imply—you’re not a _pet_ ," he finishes lamely.

A flutter of happiness makes its way across their link before it slams shut and all Thor has to go on is the sound of Loki’s voice as he says,

_"Well, obviously."_

Even under the thin veneer of egotism, he sounds pleased.

 _"I suppose it’s not a bad name,"_ he mumbles. _"It’s got a pleasant ring to it. Lo-ki. Loo-ki."_

Thor hopes no one’s looking at him right now because all they’d see is him grinning like a loon.

" _Only_ ‘not bad’? How about you try and come up with something better then?"

 _"No,"_ Loki says sharply. _"My host gave me this one. It’s mine and you can’t take it back."_

This time, Thor does laugh. "Alright, alright; no need to get snippy, Loki."

_"Hmph."_

Thor feels all smiley. He can’t stop grinning. It’s less effort than breathing, almost— _Loki_ makes smiling less effort than breathing. And even though the bond is stubbornly clammed shut on the other side, Thor imagines it’s just because Loki is feeling the same way.

* * *

Thor is walking home from a late-night run to the convenience store when it happens.

The sidewalk is empty. The streetlights dim. And Thor, Thor’s mind is a million miles away—thinking of all manner of things, like dinner and homework and lunch that day, when Natasha had thrown Clint over her shoulder just to show that she could.

Then he’s pulled into an alleyway and there’s a gun being cocked at his face.

"Gi’ me your money," the man in the hood growls. His eyes are blown wide and insane.

Thor slowly raises his hands. His groceries are a mess on the floor. "Wait, don’t shoot—"

The gun shoves closer. "I _said_ , give me your money!"

The hand that holds the gun is trembling and Thor is legitimately scared he’ll fire anyway by mistake. He can’t think or react or anything—he just, he just freezes, and that’s when the robber’s eyes land on the Millennium Puzzle around his neck.

Sick, unholy greed shines in his eyes. "‘Change my mind," the robber says, licking his lips. "Gi’ me _that_ instead."

Thor can feel the repulsion mix cold with his fear. The force of it is overwhelming. Maybe he and Loki haven’t known each other for long, but the idea of giving him up is just—impossible. Thor’s gotten attached. He’s attached to the ghost who calls him ‘host’ in a cute, cajoling voice, who always makes snarky comments in his head, who knows his textbook better than he does after only a night of reading it—

Give him away? _Never_.

His hands curl. Thor’ll fight anyone who tries to make him.

He’s two steps from decking the mugger in the face when he hears it.

_"Allow me, Host."_

Thor’s consciousness begins to slip away, as if he’s fallen into that nebulous stage right before sleep. In this state, he feels like a spectator within his own body: he can feel himself smile, hear himself speak, but the things he does, the things he _says_ —

"If you want it so much," Thor hears Loki say, "then how about we play a game for it?"

The robber’s eyes glaze and the gun slips a fraction lower. "A game?"

" _Oh, yes_ ," Loki says, smile widening an inch too far,

"A _shadow game_."

The last thing Thor sees before he falls unconscious are the shadows lunging loose from the wall, wrapping them in a world of inky blackness.

* * *

Thor wakes up at home.

He doesn’t remember the walk back. Doesn’t remember how he got up to his room. Doesn’t remember if he’d gotten the groceries or if his uncle knew he was back or even how he’d climbed into his bed.

He’s still dressed in the same clothes as when he’d gone out, but it still feels so cold.

The Millennium Puzzle is ice in the tight grip of his hands.

Thor shudders and curls around it. "Loki?" he says quietly.

 _"I’m here,"_ comes the reply. Loki’s consciousness is separate still, distant, but it curls about Thor like a particularly snuggly scarf.

 _Thank God,_ Thor thinks. He sags and hunches over the puzzle like his body could hide it away from the world. "Hey," he croaks.

 _"It’s alright,"_ Loki murmurs. _"You’re safe now."_

Yes, Thor knows. He is.

"Thanks," he says, "for back there."

Shadows flicker in the corner of his eye.

_"He tried to hurt you. Of course I’d stop him."_

Thor reaches for Loki before he even knows what he’s doing. But his hand goes right through outstretched palm, and it’s like losing something he’s never had. Thor turns away.

 _"Thor,"_ Loki calls, soft. It’s the first time he’s ever said his name. _"It’s alright."_

Loki’s hand is still raised. This time, tentatively, Thor raises his own.

They meet in the center, hovering their palms pressed together as if they could actually touch.

In his mind, Loki’s consciousness blends more than ever with his. It’s the most Thor’s ever felt from him—pain, fear, loss, all the same things Thor is feeling, mirrored across the boundary of life and death.

Slowly, the tension eases out of his shoulders.

 _"I’m here,"_ Loki says, and Thor hears across their fledgling bond, _I’ll always be._

It’s enough.

* * *

_"Aren’t you…scared of me?"_

The question hits him mid-cereal. Thor’s chewing slows. When he swallows, the corn flakes are still hard.

 _"Not really?"_ Thor pushes back. _"I mean, should I be?"_

Confusion trickles across their bond. Thor takes another spoonful of breakfast. He squints. At the rate he’s going, he’ll be left with more milk than cereal—but pouring more seems kind of like admitting defeat. Like he didn’t do it right the first time.

He’d woken up this morning like any other morning, with the exception of the Millennium Puzzle already around his neck. Thor didn’t take it off once last night, and Loki had stayed beside him the entire time.

It’d been the same in the shower. Normally he would take it off, but—he just couldn’t. Loki sat outside on the bathroom counter as Thor tried to shower as quickly as possible to not make things awkward. When he got out to see the spirit still there, he’d unconsciously let out a sigh of relief.

Loki seemed to know. He hadn’t said anything then—and now, this is the first he’s said to Thor all morning.

 _"The man from last night is dead,"_ Loki says bluntly. Thor winces at the reminder. _"Most people would be scared of me. Wouldn’t they?"_

He’s—not wrong. But.

Thor sets down his spoon. He takes a furtive glance around—no uncle. Heimdall is already at the front, manning the store.

"Could you, um, appear? Please?"

Loki does, fading into existence like a trick of the light. He sits cross-legged a level above Thor.

It’s got to be something between him and tables. He’s always sitting on them. Thor might’ve made a joke about that, but Loki’s expression is a good deterrence. Probably not the time for that anyway.

Instead, Thor says, "I would give you all the grapes. All of them."

_"…I don’t follow, Host."_

"It’s like…say you have a pet…snake," Thor begins. "And you know, I like snakes, but most people don’t."

 _"Snake,"_ Loki parrots. _"Alright."_

"And people find out you have the pet snake, and this changes their perception of you, but you don’t really care because…you like snakes?"

Loki squints at him.

"You _really_ like snakes," Thor insists.

_"What about the grapes?"_

"The grapes are—well, okay. You know how snakes—" he makes a chomping motion with his hand, "—bite? Like, lunge? When they see food?"

Loki nods slowly.

"And, it’s scary. It’s scary to watch if you don’t like snakes, and even if you do like snakes sometimes your instincts still make you flinch back. So if I were to feed my pet snake out of my hand, it’s risky, right? Most people would tell me not to do that."

 _"That_ does _sound unwise."_

"But I would do it," Thor continues. "It might be scary and it might be dangerous, even if I know my snake doesn’t mean to hurt me, but I would still do it. Because the fear is only a small part of me. It’s not going to stop me from feeding my pet snake."

 _"You could feed your snake a less hazardous way,"_ Loki points out.

"Probably," Thor agrees. He smiles up at him. "But that’s how I show my affection. It makes me happy."

 _"…I don’t think snakes eat grapes,"_ Loki says quietly.

"Hmm." Thor considers him. Then, in a serious voice, he asks, "Well, do _you_ like grapes?"

Loki’s face is still expressionless. Thor swallows. Tentatively, he feels along the bond, and then pushes across everything he doesn’t quite know how to say. Affection, care—more furiously than he would’ve thought, but he won’t take it back. It’s true, anyway.

How did Loki come to mean so much to him? Thor can’t answer that. Firstly, because he doesn’t know why, and secondly…

It’s ineffable, this feeling. Like a piece of him has come home. Not that Thor has gone his life _broken_ —it’s just, he feels fuller now. More put together. Like how a shadow doesn’t make the person, but without it, surely there’s something missing. Thor’s not missing anything, anymore.

He tries his best to convey that feeling, tries until there’s no more hesitation in the way he floods the bond.

And suddenly, Thor finds himself with a lapful of spirit.

They can’t…touch, really, but it’s not like he feels nothing. He’s sure Loki, too, has his own way of sensing the solidity of the world around him. Somewhat cool, strange and unfamiliar, but the inexplicable feeling of something slotting into place—

So close. He’s _so close_.

Loki tucks his head under Thor’s chin. Thor’s hand hovers at his waist, unsure.

 _"I suppose they’re acceptable, as far as fruit goes,"_ he murmurs.

Thor’s heart swells.

"Well, if you ever want some—" when did his throat get so dry? "—just let me know."

He can’t see Loki’s expression, but the bond purrs beneath his touch like a cat come home.

* * *

So. Creepy shadows, an alternate dimension called the 'Shadow Realm', and a mental link with the ghost haunting the ancient puzzle his dad sent him.

There are weirder things in life, Thor supposes.

The only thing is, with all the excitement, Thor has kind of neglected his friends. He feels bad enough about it that when Tony asks if they want to hang out at his place, he instantly says yes. He'll have to let his uncle know he won't be able to help out that day, but it'll probably be okay.

Tony rubs the back of his neck. "Hey, sorry it's been awhile since we've got together. It's been uh…busy."

"Nah, I had things going on too," says Thor. He thinks about the fact he'd almost gotten mugged and decides it's better not to mention it.

"Duel Monsters?"

"Sure."

Come to think of it, Tony looks pretty tired. He wonders if they’d had a particularly cruel set of exams lately, or a project that was too large a percentage of their grade to ignore.

Nothing comes to mind. Maybe they just all needed a chill day?

After all, Thor is fortunate enough to have Loki with him 24/7, who listens to him vent and comforts him whenever he’s feeling insecure. Not everyone has their own personal emotional support ghost, and maybe Thor would’ve been in his friends’ place if he hadn’t. On the walk there, he resolves to be a good friend tonight and ensure everyone’s all laughs and smiles.

Right. If Thor can take care of himself, he should take care of his friends, too.

 _"Host,"_ Loki says suddenly, right as Thor arrives at the front of Tony’s house, _"Where is this place?"_

"What? Oh. I know it’s kinda big, but this is Tony’s. His family’s pretty well-off."

 _"No, I mean—"_ the spirit pauses. _"…Never mind. It must’ve been my imagination."_

Thor frowns. "Loki?"

But Loki retreats stubbornly back, unwilling to say more on the matter. Thor shrugs.

Well, fine. Maybe watching them play Duel Monsters would cheer him up. He could insult their moves as much as he wanted then, and Loki did so love to talk like he was better than everyone else.

For all the room he has in his big house, Tony lives alone. His father’s overseas or something on business, so the only company he has is the Stark family butler, Jarvis, and a bunch of maids who come to tidy things up every so often. Privately, Thor thinks that’s the reason Tony likes to go to everyone else’s house instead—not that Thor’s never been over, or that they’ve never hung out here, but everywhere else feels a little more lived in, a little more like a home.

Apparently in the time Thor’s been ‘occupied’, Tony’s developed a prototype of a holographic Duel Monsters board, which okay is pretty rad, and now he’s recruiting everyone to help him playtest it. Something fun to take everyone’s mind off school.

"Well, here it is," he declares, motioning into the room.

"...You know when you said a _board_ , I was expecting something a little…" Clint squints. He makes a rectangle with his hands and shrinks it. "...Smaller."

"Wow, it’s like you don’t know me at all."

It’s more of an arena than a board, like a giant Duel Monsters playmat spanning most of the floor. On either end where the two players would sit is instead a raised platform with a control center, and as Tony flicks a switch, the whole thing lights up with a sleek shine.

"How much time did you say you spent on this again?"

"Well, I guess you can say I found some inspiration and ran with it." Tony grins. "Wanna try?"

Natasha calls dibs and a bracket is quickly drawn up, also displayed on an accompanying side panel. Bruce is her first opponent. As the two head up the platforms and draw their first hands, Thor senses the familiar nudge of Loki, not exactly present, but watching through his eyes.

There’s a feeling he can’t quite name building in his chest. Something like anticipation, a stark awareness—that feeling you get right before the déjà vu hits.

He doesn’t know who it belongs to—him or Loki—but as Natasha summons a monster to the field, as the holographic Duel Monsters card lifts up off the arena and a Harpy Lady appears, 3D and life-like, Thor—

He thinks, he’s seen this somewhere before.

The feeling turns to a sharp, ringing panic.

"I’m—gonna use the bathroom," Thor quickly says. He makes for the door and is running down the hallway before Tony can even ask what’s up.

The moment he reaches the bathroom, Thor closes the door shut behind him and locks it. He stares into the mirror, two hands gripping the edge of the counter, until his own reflection ripples and there before him is instead Loki.

He’s paler than usual—grimmer, too.

"Loki? What’s—what’s wrong?"

 _"Sorry, Host,"_ Loki murmurs.

Thor frowns, but before he can say more, his head starts to spin. He catches himself on the counter but he thinks he loses grip of it at some point, because his hand clenches nothing, and the world fades out.

It’s almost like he’s dreaming.

There’s a long hallway. A door. A bookcase, and a hidden panel that leads into another room like in the movies, except this place is Tony’s house and this is his father’s study and Thor’s only seen pictures of this place, sitting on the fireplace mantle downstairs—a picture of Tony’s father at his desk in this very room with Tony age 5 on his lap and his mother standing beside them.

But the dream leaves the confines of what Thor knows as he steps through the hidden doorway and into a very different space. 

It’s white, sterile, like a research lab. There’s all sorts of machinery around and only a thin path forward.

Thor goes. The closer he gets, the louder something whispers…

" _A Millennium item, here?"_

Before him is a large, glass case, sitting in the middle of what appears to be a containment center. There’s a control panel in front, but Thor doesn’t pay attention to that. He rests a hand against the glass, enraptured by what lies within.

" _The Scale…_ "

An ancient, golden balance scale. Upon its stand engraved an emblem that Thor knows well and good—the image of a snake biting its tail, an ouroboros. The same one that adorns the Millennium Puzzle.

There’s a memory, murky, inside the dream. A palace of gold and a hall of embers. In the wide expanse, two people stood on opposing sides. Using stone tablets, they summoned monsters from the shadows, and these monsters oddly resembled drawings that Thor knew…

Thor blinks awake.

He’s standing in front of the door to the game room. The last few minutes are a bit of a blur—he must’ve zoned out on the walk back. Thor shrugs and walks in.

"Hey," Bruce greets him. "Did you get lost or something? You were gone for a while."

"Huh," Thor says. He blinks rapidly a couple times, then smiles. "Didn’t feel that long to me."

"Oh, guess not…"

They both turn back to Natasha and Clint’s duel. Things are winding down to the wire, with Natasha only 500 LP away from death and Clint hanging on at 700.

The whole ordeal is quickly forgotten after that.

* * *

Thor wakes up one day to Loki wearing a collar.

That in and of itself isn’t the weirdest thing, but he seems—at least, from the upper half Thor can see—to have gotten an entire outfit change. The swathes of draped cloth have been exchanged for a loose black tank. The show of skin is new—his shoulders are bare. Thor can’t seem to stop staring.

Foamy toothpaste dribbles down his chin.

Loki laughs, and the image in the mirror is replaced with Thor’s own.

 _"I thought I’d wear something a little more modern. To fit in more,"_ the spirit says. Putting aside the fact that no one other than Thor can actually see him, of course.

Thor has never finished brushing his teeth so fast _in his life_. As soon as he’s finished he spins around, only to meet eyes with Loki, leaning against the door to the bathroom. There’s a few too many belts around his waist, his nails are painted black, and Thor has no idea where he got the idea of leather pants seeing as it’s been a solid 80 degrees lately—seriously, who taught him about those—but he looks. Good. Happy.

…Thor should’ve known his spirit was a goth. Or at least a theater nerd.

"Welcome to the 21st century," says Thor. "Congrats on ditching the toga."

 _"Clothes are interesting. There’s so many styles now."_ He tilts his head. _"Host, you always wear the same thing. Isn’t it boring?"_

"It’s called a _uniform_." And unfortunately, he really has to start getting dressed now. Thor slips past Loki and grabs his clothes off the hanger. He takes off his shirt and…

Pauses when he sees Loki staring at him from the doorway still. His gaze is unreadable.

"…Do you mind," says Thor, more out of maintaining the status quo than anything. He himself is not sure that he minds.

 _"Have a good day at school,"_ Loki says abruptly.

Then, he vanishes. Even his consciousness is politely separate, maintaining the boundary between their minds.

Thor blinks.

What was up with that?

* * *

The idea of impressing his host to ensure he doesn’t leave him isn’t so bad.

People like useful things. People also like obedient things. The spirit of the Millennium Puzzle can play being both; it’s not like it’s particularly hard to follow the whims of a host who has fairly little ambition. Must be the age. Hard to think on the scale of world-conquering at only 17.

…Maybe his host is just lonely. The spirit can relate to that much.

So, he tries. The idea that his host was as lonely as him before he found him is an interesting one—one that the spirit can’t quite get out of his head. His host is an easygoing person; he has friends, family—well, an uncle, but at least they’re not all dead—and doesn’t seem to have any problems in school. What _really_ was there to be upset about?

But he can tell somehow—feel it in all he has left of him, the intangible specter of his mind, that there’s something like _him_ about his host. That there is something that they share, and now that they’ve found each other—

The puzzle piece clicks into place.

Lately, Loki’s been having dreams.

The spirit equivalent of them, anyway. He…gets lost, in his mind, long after Thor falls asleep. The nebulous images haunt him. They linger out of his grasp, but just close enough that he knows they’re there. Memories of a different time. Recollections…

Anything sets it off. It could be a scene or a flash of light, a shade of color close to something he’s seen before or a taste, the memory of one, muted on Thor’s tongue.

Who was he, before he became the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle?

A firm hand on the back of his neck, a press of lips to the crown of his head…

"Loki?"

Loki shakes himself awake. _"Yes, Host?"_

Thor laughs quietly. He appeared to be in the kitchen, grabbing drinks for his friends. "Bored? You’re usually pretty interested when we play Duel Monsters."

…That’s another thing. Duel Monsters. It’s a card game that Thor and his friends have been playing a lot recently, even more than that Dungeons and Dragons game.

It’s also—unfortunately or not, Loki can’t decide—as of late been one of his ‘triggers’.

 _"No,"_ murmurs Loki. _"It’s nothing. I just thought you needed the headspace. It’d be cheating if I told you what to do all the time, wouldn’t it?"_

That’s right, his host likes this kind of talk. He seemed happy whenever the spirit joked with him, or said things that weren’t particularly friendly. The spirit doesn’t really understand but, he supposes, since that’s how his host’s friends are, too—that is, playfully rude to each other—that the behavior is familiar to him.

"Hey, I strategize! I won first the last time, didn’t I?"

_"You won because you drew your Thunder Dragon combo at the last second."_

"Luck is a strategy!"

_"Mmhm, sure."_

And see? There it is. Thor smiles softly, a private thing shared only between he and Loki.

"You should play the next one with me," he suggests. "I think I’ve got enough cards to build a venom deck."

His host always seems to be sharing things with him. Jokes, hobbies. Affection and _time._ It’s what Loki’s wanted since the beginning, and because he’s greedy, he knows he’ll keep saying yes, but.

The greedier he gets, the more he wants.

 _I’ve felt this feeling before_ , he thinks hazily, _but_ _when?_

_"Alright."_

And how did it end?

Then he finds the Millennium Scale in the basement of one of Thor’s friends, and the haze starts to clear.

* * *

Thor brings them to a tea shop one afternoon when school gets out.

It’s just them—no Tony or Natasha or Clint or Bruce—and they’re tentatively sharing control of the body as Loki makes a new venom deck with some cards Thor’d recently got. To be fair, it’s totally unnecessary; Loki could just tell Thor the cards and he’d set them out, but he kind of wanted to try it. Sharing.

Loki could already look through his eyes. Why couldn’t he move through his hands?

It’s weird at first, a little like he’s moving absentmindedly. The boundary between their minds is so thin, their thoughts and feelings so blended, that it doesn’t feel like anyone’s controlling him at all. It’s just him and Loki, Loki and Thor, and that’s how it should be.

Thor uses the hand Loki’s not piloting to take a sip of his drink. He feels Loki’s surprise. 

_"It’s kind of chewy,"_ Loki says. _"These are…pearls? And the drink is milk and tea?"_

Thor hadn’t said anything but he plucks the details from his thoughts like it’d been one of his own. 

_"Yeah,"_ Thor thinks back. _"It’s sweet, and the milk makes it creamy. The pearls add texture, too, but you can have other toppings if you want, like jelly or pudding."_

_"Mm…"_

Thor notices Loki’s stopped moving. He refocuses on the cards.

 _Vennominaga, the Deity of Poisonous Snakes_. Queen of the venom decks and Loki’s favorite monster by far. But why had this stopped him?

Melancholy, a forlorn feeling, the taste of nostalgia and hesitance blending. Thor skims the feelings but doesn’t want to overstep. He pushes back soft confusion, curiosity, and the sort of question that lingers on the tip of the tongue.

Affection swells in his chest. Not his, originally—though it wouldn’t be hard to evoke—but Loki’s.

 _"It’s nothing, Host,"_ Loki murmurs. His thumb rubs the card’s smooth, matte finish. It feels wistful, but scared.

Thor swallows. He imagines it was him that Loki’s looking at like that.

 _"Loki,"_ he says, cajoling. Is this happening? It can’t be happening. He hopes—

_"If I wasn’t who you thought I was, would you still call me that?"_

...Of all things, that wasn’t what Thor was expecting.

Loki must feel it too, because he puts down the card face down and retrieves his hand. It almost feels like he’ll pull away entirely and set up his walls again. 

_"We’re friends, aren’t we?"_ Thor blurts. _"Of course I would_ — _unless you prefer to be called something different, then_ —"

Loki laughs softly. _"No,"_ he says, sincere, _"I like this name." You’re the one who gave it to me, after all_.

The desire to hold him is overwhelming, but it’s impossible—like holding air, or squeezing water. Thor’s hand twitches. Is it him? Is it how human he is that makes him want these things? Does Loki want to know too, what it would feel like…

Their minds press together again. Gently, feather-light, he feels his worries subside.

 _"I think,"_ Loki confesses to him, _"I might’ve been human once."_

* * *

Thor dreams that night.

There’s a golden palace. Flower petals on the streets. Streamers and cheer and the mood of a once-in-a-lifetime event about to take place.

They celebrate the new king of Asgard.

_—"Thor!"_

Thor turns. It's Loki but it's not; his eyes are brighter, somehow more youthful, and the way he tugs on Thor's sleeve is lovely and _real_. Thor hugs him before he knows what he's doing. It lasts too short, just a greeting, but any longer and Loki will wriggle away and complain.

"Cousin," he says warmly, "Running away? They're celebrating you, you know."

Loki wrinkles his nose and pulls his hood down lower. "It took me forever to sneak out. Hey, invite me home."

"You don't even know if that's where I was going."

"Well are you going now?"

He was originally planning to savor the city one last time, but... Loki's eyes say they already know the answer. His mouth twitches.

"I suppose I am."

"Then it's fine, isn't it? Let's go, before it gets even more crowded."

Loki's little fair hand slips into his. All the calluses, the rough skin—it's a hand that's more accustomed to the handle of an axe than another's, and yet, it's the hand Loki is always so insistent to hold. Thor grips it like it's his most treasured possession. Because Loki is his one greatest weakness—

So, he obeys.

They get back to Thor's house and Loki immediately flops down on a chair, languid like a cat.

"Tired," he mutters. "Everyone's so high strung... It's like they've forgotten we've spent the last six months preparing for this. What's to worry about?"

"They're just eager," Thor says. He moves into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. The house is small enough he can talk right across and still be heard fine. "I'm surprised you're not milking this more."

Loki pauses.

Thor looks behind him. "Cousin?"

"Do you think I'll make a good king, Thor?" Loki asks quietly. "All my advisors are old enough to be my parents. They're old enough to be my _parents_ ' advisors. But no matter where I look, they look at me like..."

"Like?"

"Like I'm their god. Their _savior_. I haven't even done anything yet!"

Thor closes his eyes. "It's because they've been waiting for you for a long time," he says gently. "Everyone has. Your birth was a blessing, Loki."

"Not for you."

The pot whistles on the stove. Thor takes it off. He turns his head.

Loki is watching him. "You live here now, after all," he says, and spreads his arms. "How's this a blessing?"

Loki, Loki, Loki. Thor remembers back when he'd first been relieved of his post. Called back from the borders. He'd rode into the city in armor and glory, knowing when he arrived at the palace it would all be stripped away. The new king had been born—and, right on schedule, on the eve of the 500th year of the light kings, the new king had been born dark.

They could not have a light general under a dark king. Thor had been ready to accept his fate. Perhaps it would be for the better; the current king then had been indecisive and a wastrel. He'd spent more time among his harem than concerning himself with the affairs of the people. Thor had hoped the new king would be different.

And then, along the garden path into the golden palace walls, he met Loki. A pudgy five-year-old with eyes a warm, brilliant green.

The current Loki is seventeen years old, and he bats Thor's probing hand away grumpily. " _Thor_ ," he whines. "You always tell that story, but—"

"No buts," Thor says. "I would've been banished. That was what I was expecting. That was what everyone was expecting. Instead, I live here in the city, frugal but in want of nothing, and the new king lets me call him cousin and poke his cheeks whenever he doubts himself. In the grand scheme of things, I can understand why all the average folk are joyful—you wish for nothing more than their continued peace and happiness, and I dare say that's the most important quality a king can have."

"It's stupid to banish one who has done so much," Loki mutters, looking away.

Thor smiles sadly. He squeezes the arm of the chair. "Yes," he murmurs, "Well.

"You will be a good king. I know it, Loki."

"Mm..."

Thor sweeps him up into his arms. It's pushing it, he knows—innocent on the edge of improper. It can already be considered rude; Thor might have royal blood running through his veins, but he's no more than a commoner before Loki. By law they have no relation. Hela would have his head.

But.

Thor buries his face in Loki's hair and kisses the crown of his head. "You will be a good king," he repeats hoarsely. "I wish I could see it."

"...What?"

Loki pushes him back.

"Won't you be?" he asks.

Thor shakes his head. "I'm leaving," he says, and tries to stay firm in the face of Loki's heartbroken expression.

"What? Why?" he demands. "For how long? Don't tell me forever. This is your home!"

"I'm getting married."

This time, Loki does fully shove him away. Thor stumbles back. He'd deserved that, really.

"To a woman," Thor continues, "in the kingdom over. The date has already been decided. I leave tonight."

"You told me you'd be there."

"Loki—"

"You told me you'd be there! At my coronation, during the ceremony, you—"

"I'm sorry."

Loki shakes his head. His nails dig into the chair, ruining the fabric. "Who is she? Is she more important than me? Your _king_?"

This, at least, is too much to bear to go on uncorrected. Perhaps it would be better for both of them to believe otherwise, but Thor is not that kind. He'd rather Loki know the truth of this and hurt him that way than to have him believe anyone could be more important to him.

"It was an arranged marriage," he says. When Loki doesn't react outright by throwing something at him, Thor dares to approach. He takes his clenched hands and eases them, running the pad of his thumb over the soft skin. "I haven't met her yet."

"Why, then?"

Thor shakes his head. He turns over Loki's hand and presses his lips to his palm, letting it linger there in a gesture far too inappropriate to mistake for familial.

"Why..."

Thor pulls away. "You'll understand...when you are king."

Loki looks up at him. "Is it a law?" he asks. "Some tradition? A contract? Tell me, I can change it for you. They'll obey me; they must!"

"Thank you, but this is something you can't change, I'm afraid."

"That's impossible—the king's word is law! Is it the other kingdom? Tell me, which is it—Jotunheim? Alfheim? Vanaheim? Don't worry about a war; I'm not that brash. Oh, but I know enough to pressure them. They won't be so pleased to hear we'll be withholding our Asgardian silks—"

Thor doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "It's not that, Loki."

"Then what?!" he demands. "Who would dare take you from me?!"

Affection swells in his heart, and agony, too. To be cursed to hear the things he's wanted to hear for so long on the eve of his departure—is it a gift or a curse? Thor shakes his head. It's for the best.

There are reasons why the alignment switches every 500 years. Light and dark are not meant to touch. It would surely beg a fate worse than death from the gods otherwise.

He can't let that happen to Loki. Anyone but Loki...

"Become king," Thor says. "Then your sister will explain it to you."

At least when Thor is gone Loki won't be alone. He'll have Hela. She'd taught him all these years, protected his throne while he was growing up...there is no one Thor would trust more, other than himself. Loki will be fine.

"You're really not going to tell me? You're really just going to _leave_? Thor!"

"It's for the best," he says quietly. "Believe me, Loki."

He reaches forward to hold him one more time but Loki reels back. His expression is fractured, hurt beyond repair. The corners of his eyes are glassy.

Thor feels like he'd been punched in the gut. "Loki—"

"Fine," Loki says. It's the opposite of fine. "Fine. If you're just going to—to _let things be_ , go on then! Go get married for all I care! Have a wife and two children and a dog and what-have-you! Live like a peasant! That's all you are, anyway!"

"Loki," Thor begins, "Cousin—"

"Don't call me that!" Loki spits. "Cousin? If you don't leave, I'll banish you myself! I never want to see you again!"

And then, Loki turns on his heels and runs out of the house. The door slams hard against the frame behind him.

Thor stares and restrains everything that tells him to go after him.

Of course they wouldn't part on good terms. Seeing Loki again today is more than Thor had hoped for in the first place.

It's better this way.

...

He leaves early.

There's no point to staying. Staying just hurts even more, so why postpone the inevitable?

Thor leaves on the fastest horse out of town at noon. He arrives at a rest stop around sunset, heart heavy and numb.

Probably around now the ceremony must've started? It was scheduled to take place at night after the festival...

"—Bad things going on in the capital. I'd recommend you stay out of it."

Thor's ears prickle. His gaze slides in the direction of the whispered conversation.

"Bad things? Wasn't there a festival?"

They're both wearing cloaks, but the one belonging to the one just spoke is distinctly Elven in fashion. A diplomat?

The other smiles nastily. "Oh yes, the coronation of a new king... You look like the good sort, so it shouldn't matter that I tell you. The new king is dark, everyone knows this. They say he's lustful, greedy, a warmonger and vain!"

"Oh, that's terrible!" the elf exclaimed, clicking their tongue.

"But not to fear, my friend. The light are planning to stop it—if they succeed, why, they plan to take the new king's head!"

Thor abruptly stands. The cup sitting on the table rattles and the feet of his chair skid back. He marches directly over to the other table and lifts the traitor by the neck of his shirt.

"What did you say?" he growls.

"Now now, there's no need to get violent—"

"Who planned this coup?! Tell me."

"The—the war general! The Thunderer, Thor! He's leading them!"

What?

Thor drops him. The man falls to his knees, coughing, but Thor doesn't care. He's already racing to the stables for his horse.

Loki is in danger.

...

The streets that'd been so joyous in the morning are now a desolate mess.

A trail of fire leads Thor to the palace. Some of the guards are fighting—their assailants are frenzied, beyond the point of reason.

"Glory to the Light!"

"Kill the king!"

"Take his head!"

Thor can barely stand to hear it. He charges into the fray, and as expected, the ones who claimed to be paragons of the light don't even recognize him. He didn't want to hurt civilians before, but in this case...

Thor tosses his cloak over his shoulder. A large, golden key with the emblem of an ouroboros on its bow hangs from his belt. It glints in the fire light, and then, a large axe sweeps the attackers away, roaring like thunder on the downswing.

Thor commands his horse to go faster. He heads straight for the palace gates.

...

The palace was in shatters.

The ceiling had long been destroyed. An ominous, dark cloud hangs overhead. It makes Thor shudder—feeling of unholy magics and the taint of death. He can only pray Loki is alright, but a terrible suspicion has crept its way into Thor's brain, and he can't rid himself of the nagging sensation that he'd made a terrible mistake.

The guards in front of the ritual room are dead. The door hangs open.

Thor enters.

What had once been the ritual chamber now has a large, gaping hole in the center of the floor. Something ugly and ancient swirls within. He can feel the Millennium Key at his side grow hot.

There's Loki, standing on the brink.

Before Thor can call out to him, Hela steps out of the shadows into view. Her mouth moves. It curls into a cruel grin.

Then her sword plunges into Loki's back, and she pushes him over the ledge.

" _No!_ " Thor cries, but it's too late.

Electricity crackles above. The building groans. And Loki—

Loki falls, and falls, and falls, swallowed by the shadows below.

* * *

Thor wakes with a start.

The dream was so real—or, it felt so real; his hands are still shaking and all he can think about is Loki falling to his death on repeat, the way it’d almost seemed like the black tar at the bottom of the pit had reached for him, his betrayed expression, the ache in Thor’s own heart to know he’d seen it twice that day.

A dream or a memory? It’s too hard to tell.

He looks around so very awake and aware. This room he’s in is foreign to him. Not his, and yet…

Thor pushes off the blanket with trembling hands and gets off the bed. He picks up a mini-basketball from the floor and turns it around in his hand, thumb rubbing over a stick figure with a speech bubble pointing to _THOR’S PROPERTY_ above its head. It’s got the writing of a toddler.

Thor remembers.

There’s a deck of playing cards on the bedside table, bent with familiar scratches. A box of dominos. The double-six has a black spot on the back—it’s how he’d always been able to tell which one it was during shuffling.

But he’d lost this set ages ago…

And it’s not just by the bed. All sorts of games are littered across the room. There’s a chess board. A hockey table. So many Pokemon cards and basketballs in all sorts of sizes—one to match every growth spurt from preschool to secondary. There’s a display case full of trophies he’d won at local TCG tournaments—his uncle had gone to every one—

And a deck of Duel Monsters cards, innocuously sitting in the very middle of his desk.

Thor puts the basketball down. He walks over. Places his hand on top of the deck. For some reason, a thrill of anticipation surges within his chest. It feels just like the draw at the climax of a battle, like not knowing whether he’ll win or lose but praying, betting, gambling it all on this one card—

He flips it.

 _Thunder Dragon_ stares up at him, his signature card.

Thor swallows. He doesn’t know what it means, but seeing Thunder Dragon...it makes him feel like everything’s going to be alright. He pockets the card and turns to the only part of the room he hasn’t investigated: the door.

No windows. Just this door. One way in, one way out. Thor places his hand on it.

He takes a breath and turns the knob.

The hallway outside is long and extensive, built of cracking stone and torches. He can’t see the end on either side. Straight across from his own door is another: cold, metal, with a large, golden crest of an ouroboros in the middle. 

Thor walks across the short distance. It’s solid, immovable, and there’s no knob.

He knocks.

The sound echoes in the hallway before slowly, the door swings open for him.

It’s barren inside. Sparse. Like a prison out of stone. There’s an ornate table, a lone chair further away arranged like it had one. Bits and pieces out of a scene in a portrait, but pointedly incomplete. 

In the corner is a bed equally out of time, painstakingly carved to the minute detail—a bed fit for a king. Huddled in the center is a figure swathed in the dark sheets, and though he can’t see his face, Thor knows instinctively who it is.

Loki peeks up. 

"Thor?" he whispers. "What are you doing here?"

It seems like he’s not the only one who’s had a nightmare. Thor’s chest pangs. He walks over immediately and—

Stops at the edge of the bed. And stares.

Because Loki, who had always been ephemeral and translucent by his side, intangible besides the ghost of a chill, looks real.

"...Loki?"

The blanket slides off his head. Their eyes catch. Thor doesn’t know who moves first but he’s moving, being pulled, pulling himself forward. Their hands tangle and Loki is _real_. He feels the soft spread of his hair upon the sheets, can taste the warmth on his skin and feels his breath—

" _Loki_ ," Thor breathes, and finally holds him. It’s as if that terrible dream he’d seen was only that, a dream, and Loki is whole and alive and upon him. He holds him and unlike that Thor who suffered the knowledge that Loki would pull away, _his_ Loki does no such thing.

Loki presses his face into the crook of Thor’s neck. His arms come around, holding Thor to him just as tightly.

"You’re here," he murmurs, muffled. "You’re here…"

It’s only a while later that Thor regains his capability of a thought other than Loki. They sit together at the head of the bed, Loki cradled in Thor’s bigger lap, wound together as if this was as it should be.

"Where is this place?" Thor finally asks.

"The room of our souls," Loki replies. "Well, mine, anyway. This is where I usually stay when you’re asleep."

Thor thinks about his own room and furrows his brow. "I’ve never been in mine before…"

"Normal people can’t reach their soul rooms by regular means," says Loki. "Never mind someone else’s. The fact that you’re here is proof you’re growing in power. Proof of our connection…"

He falls quiet. Thor can hardly remember the dream that had brought him here in the first place, but he senses that perhaps it hadn’t only been his, and unlike him, Loki hadn’t forgotten.

Thor places a hand on the back of his neck and rubs his thumb at the skin there soothingly. "It’s alright, Loki."

"But is it?" Loki shakes his head and begins to pull away.

"It’ll be alright."

"How can it be, if even _I_ don’t know who I am?" Loki’s expression shutters. He turns, gesturing to the rest of the room. "Look at this place—even my _soul_ doesn’t remember who it is! All these things that I know, and I don’t know how…"

"We can figure it out together."

He pauses. Thor continues.

"You said you’d always be there for me. Well, it’s a two-way street, isn’t it?"

Loki turns and Thor smiles, beckoning him back with a hand. 

"Who you were then—it doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t change who you are: spirit of the Puzzle, the voice in my head...you’re my friend, Loki. And if the you of now wants to know who you were then, then I’ll help you. Isn’t that what friends are for?"

For a moment, Loki says nothing. Then Thor feels his head thump against the wall as Loki presses him back and down, looming above him on his knees. His expression is inscrutable.

The connection between their minds clicks back into place.

His hands are trembling as they clench around his shoulders. Thor squeezes them and waits.

"You’re really—"

Loki closes his eyes. He slips down. Thor feels the weight return on his lap and he thinks it’s quickly becoming his favorite thing in the world, to be able to touch and hold him like this.

Laughter floods his mind.

"Friends," the spirit murmurs, sly. "Somehow, that’s probably not the term you’re looking for."

Thor’s too startled to be embarrassed about it.

* * *

"Actually, while we’re being honest with each other, there’s probably something you should know."

That doesn’t sound like the best thing in the world, but alright, Thor rolls with it.

"I wasn’t aware we were ever _not_ being honest with each other, but okay?"

Loki ignores him.

"I found another Millennium item in your friend’s basement."

"...Wait, what." 

Loki...dawdles. That’s the best way to describe it. He picks at the sheets like all his previously mustered courage has been drained away, and Thor bets he’d run if he wasn’t currently holding him in his lap. It seems, he realizes, that his spirit hasn’t been entirely truthful with him.

Somehow, Thor is a lot calmer about this than he thought he’d be.

"...Start from the beginning. There are _more_ Millennium items?"

"Seven, actually," Loki mutters.

"Do all of them have spirits like you?"

"...The Puzzle is a special case," he says slowly. "I was imprisoned inside as a—guard, I suppose. To ensure only the right person would be capable of using it. The other items have their own mechanisms to select their rightful wielders, some benign and others...less so."

"And this one...you’re saying Tony has it?"

"The Millennium Scale," Loki says, "grants its wielder the unique ability to weigh a person’s heart. It’s one of the kinder items, though no less powerful.

"People hunt that kind of power. They crave it. And while I can protect you, the Scale offers no such guarantee. I’m afraid your friend is in grave danger, unless he knows how to wield it."

Thor stiffens. "I have to tell him."

When he doesn’t receive any sort of backlash from Loki, Thor stares at him in surprise.

"Is that...okay?"

Loki blinks back at him. "Why wouldn’t it be?"

"Well isn’t that usually how things go? Ancient, magical item. Bad guys. The less people who know the better? I honestly thought you were going to tell me to steal it."

Loki laughs. "You’ve an active imagination, Host. What would we do with the Scale? No; while it might not have a spirit to protect it, the items themselves have a certain sentience of their own. If it’s still there, it’s where it needs to be, however precarious that is."

"Oh."

Weirder things have happened.

"I need to call Tony. How do I—where do I—"

But it’s almost as if he needn’t have asked. Loki presses their foreheads together. A curious calm washes over his mind.

"All you have to do," he murmurs, "is wake up."

And Thor does.

He wakes up in his room—his actual room, this time. The lights are out, just as he’d left them, and the wall clock reads 2. It’d only been a couple hours since he’d turned in. Thor sits up and rubs his eyes.

Around him, the world is still.

He picks up his phone and calls Tony.

_"...Thor?"_

Thor sighs in relief. "Hey."

_"Dude, why are you calling at like...2 in the morning?"_

"Uh. No...reason. Hey, do you have time to talk tomorrow?"

 _"I’m a pretty busy guy, but I guess I can pencil you in,"_ Tony jokes. He sounds kind of out of breath. _"I’ll be in the same place as I always am. You know. School."_

"Sure, sure," Thor says. He grips his phone tighter. "Be careful out there."

_"...What?"_

Crap. Thor thinks fast. "In general, I mean. Be safe. It's a dangerous world out there, y'know?"

_"Riiight. Well I gotta go, so if that’s all—"_

"Yeah, that was it. Goodnight Tony."

_"‘Night."_

They hang up. Thor sags in relief.

He’s sure everything will be fine once they talk tomorrow.

* * *

Tony doesn’t come to school the next day.

"He probably just slept in," Bruce says, bumping shoulders with him. "Was up real late last night working on his projects. You know how Tony gets."

Thor still doesn’t look so sure. 

"Just you watch, he’ll show up to class 10 minutes late with a Starbucks and then sleep through lecture. 5 Bucks."

They shake on it.

But class comes and 10 minutes later there’s still no Tony. Thor frowns while pocketing his 5 extra dollars. He sends him a text but gets no response. If he’s sleeping then it’s obvious why, but…

Thor’s got a bad feeling about this. He heads for Tony’s after school, just to make sure.

The second he gets to the doorstep, Loki stops him.

 _"Someone’s been here,"_ he mutters. _"There’s traces of shadow magic still lingering, but whoever it was is gone now..."_

The bad feeling gets worse. Thor rings the doorbell a little more frantically than he’d intended, but—

No one answers. He frowns and knocks this time.

"Tony? Jarvis? It’s Thor."

Still no answer.

He tests the doorknob. The lock yields.

_"Go on. I’m here."_

Thor steps in. It’s a mess inside, with no place left untouched. Tables, chairs, all turned over—shards of broken vases on the floor, dead flowers and a wet spot on the carpet. Thor watches his step as he makes his way through the ransacked area, looking for a clue.

"Tony?" he calls again. No answer.

Loki’s consciousness returns. _"I checked the rest of the house—unless he’s put himself into some kind of containment vessel, the shadows don’t sense anything. No one’s here."_

Obviously, taken against his will. It makes Thor feel sick inside.

"We have to call the police," Thor mutters. "Or—" find him themselves.

_"They must’ve been looking for the Scale. Check the basement."_

Thor offers Loki control of the body. "Lead the way."

Loki slips in without pushing Thor’s consciousness out. He walks them to a door Thor recognizes as the office of Tony’s father, and inside, it’s been equally ransacked. Thor winces at the pile of books strewn across the floor and the shelves that’d gone along with it. In their place is an entrance to another room, with stairs leading down. 

Loki goes.

The container that should’ve housed the Millennium Scale is empty.

"Taken," Loki mutters. "There was a fight here. But not much of one—your friend must’ve tried to stop them, but they were evidently more experienced with shadow magic than he was."

_"You can tell?"_

" _All_ of them were amateurs. They didn’t even bother hiding their tracks." Loki swipes a finger along the glass container, rubs it, and sneers. What he sees is invisible to Thor, but he gets the impression that it looks like dirt to Loki. "So clumsy, I’m a little insulted they can call themselves thieves."

He clicks his tongue. "The quality’s gone down in the last 3000 years."

Thor snorts. _"What are you, an old man?"_

"Excuse you, _I_ am the epitome of young and beautiful," Loki sniffs. "Spirit, technically ageless, same thing."

 _"It’s okay to admit your flaws,"_ Thor teases. _"I’ll still love you anyway."_

"As you should." He crosses his arms and lifts his chin, posturing like a cobra flaring its hood. "All-powerful spirit of the Millennium Puzzle, what’s not to like?"

Somehow, it’s a particularly lovable look on him. Thor shakes his head, even as he’s sure his affection filters across their bond. _"No,"_ he corrects gently, _"As Loki."_

The spirit, startled, reels back, pushing Thor’s consciousness to the forefront again. Thor stumbles at suddenly being left in charge. He smiles anyway. It feels like more and more, he’s able to see Loki’s true self—the one that’s silly and sulky, who’s playful and bratty and pushes Thor away just as much as he pulls him closer.

 _"Oh, wipe that stupid look off your face,"_ Loki mutters.

Thor shakes his head and refocuses. "Tony?"

_"I’m not sure what happened to him, but I can hunt down the ones who did it, if you like."_

Not confirmed dead, just missing. Of all the things that Thor doesn’t know—shadows, magic, items of power and an ancient mystery; he’s way out of his depth, really—this is the one that calms him down. His friend’s in danger but there’s still hope that everything will turn out fine. 

That’s all Thor needs to know.

Loki’s mouth curls. _"It’s alright, Host. The things you don’t know, I can teach you._

_"For example, step one to tracking down our wayward friends..."_

The shadows on the floor slant, falling taller and taller until they coalesce at Thor’s feet and begin to rise. What might’ve once been an ominous sight is oddly reassuring. Thor unconsciously lifts a hand and the shadows curl beneath it.

 _"Yes, like that,"_ Loki murmurs, whispering in his head like he doesn’t want to interrupt. _"Now, cast them out. Let the shadows do the work_ for _us."_

#

It’s funny.

The more his bond with Thor strengthens, the easier the memories come. It’s as if Thor himself is the key—like Loki had locked all those painful things up, waiting for the day it wouldn’t hurt so much to open them, and that time would be when he met Thor again.

There are good memories, like magic lessons in the palace garden, or sneaking out to go horse riding with the Thor of the past—memories that don’t really do anything for him now, but are a comfort to have. To _remember_ having. To tell him he’d been a person before.

But there are also bad memories. Like being trapped in the Shadow Realm for days on end with no food or water to harden his heart; like his sister’s voice, distorted, telling him she’d never loved him and how everything she’d ever done for him had been a lie; or like that past Thor, loving and still leaving him, and finally how he’d died all alone.

Yes, the good and the bad. They’re all there, waiting for him to remember.

They find the last trace of Thor’s friend in an abandoned warehouse.

"So," murmurs the man at the top, sitting on a stack of crates like a throne, "You’ve come."

He’s as big as a titan, with an almost lackadaisical attitude. Thanos, they called him.

"‘Whoever wields the Millennium Puzzle shall be king’—poor child, to be caught up in this mess." Thanos shakes his head. "You solved the Puzzle but had no idea of the implications. Such a pity, to be a casualty of fate, but we all have our own destinies." 

His men surround them. Just a mortal playing god—Loki wants to roll his eyes.

"And mine," Thanos declares, "is to be king."

"What did you do with Tony?" Thor asks evenly.

"I’m afraid your friend is yet another casualty. His father did great work for the cause, but…he hesitated. There are consequences to such disobedience." Thanos raises the Millennium Scale high above his head, as if to inspect it beneath the artificial light. "Yes, he had potential, but not the grit to bear it. The Millennium items cannot be wielded by the weak of heart."

He lowers his hand. "Surely you must understand. Now, give me the Puzzle."

Thor places his hand on the Puzzle. Their minds meld until which is Thor and which is Loki is nigh indistinguishable.

"You think you have what it takes?" they ask. "To be vessel of the king?"

Thanos frowns. "I _am_ the king."

Thor’s mouth curls. His eyes flicker green in the light. "Oh," he says. "So you don’t know.

"There already is a king, and he’s not impressed."

Before Thanos’ men can move, their shadows lock them in place. Thor’s own shadow grows long and thin, coiling upon the floor. A pair of wings sprout from his back, and as they begin to unfurl, the lightbulb sparks.

The men, sensing the summoning about to take place, frantically try to summon their own. A roar pierces their concentration. Out from the shadows slithers the serpentine form of Thunder Dragon, electricity snapping from its mouth. It looms far above to the ceiling, filling the space with its coils and sharp, blue-eyed glare. 

Thanos stands. He hastily swings the Millennium Scale in front of him as if to form a shield. The balance teeters ominously, once to the left and once to the right, and then...one side plunks to the bottom.

Thanos screams.

"The Millennium Scale weighs the evil in your heart and finds you guilty," Thor says finally. "You aren’t fit to wield a Millennium item, never mind be king."

Behind him, Thanos’ shadow becomes a wall of grasping hands. They tug and pull and drag him back, down into the Shadow Realm.

The Scale, perched perfectly at the edge of the crate where Thanos had been sitting, teeters again until it reaches equilibrium, perfectly balanced before Thor.

But he’s not its wielder. Thor ascends the steps and picks it up. He turns back to Thunder Dragon and gives it a command.

The lights flicker out.

* * *

Tony groans. "What the—where am I? Wh—Thor?" 

"Hey," Thor says, "You good? Your place is kinda trashed, so I hope you don’t mind sleeping over."

Tony blinks a couple times, trying to adjust to the light. Thor had set him down on the living room couch and wasn’t quite sure when he’d wake up—Loki had warned anywhere from hours to days. It seems like his friend’s pretty strong, or at least has a tolerance for shadows, because it only took a couple hours.

His uncle walks in with a tray of…something. 

"Old family remedy," Heimdall says. For a moment, their eyes meet. His fake eye shines glassy in the light.

Loki, over his shoulder, snorts. _"It’s the equivalent of an Asgardian fruit smoothie for kids. Helps with shadow sickness if you overdo it on the magic. I’m still not sure if it’s a placebo or actually does something."_

And that’s…still going to take some getting used to. Thor had been surprised enough when his uncle found them walking out of the warehouse, Tony unconscious on Thor’s back and shadows shifting at his feet, and that had been _before_ he’d seen, in place of one of his uncle’s usual brown eyes, a golden, Millennium item.

The Millennium Eye. Apparently.

They _still_ haven’t been able to talk about it. Mostly because Tony had been passed out on their couch and Thor was falling asleep on his feet.

Heimdall sets down the tray and places one of the bowls down in front of Thor. The other he hands to Tony.

It doesn’t smell…terrible.

 _"Have you ever drank this before?"_ he asks, sliding a glance to the spirit draped over his back.

Loki wrinkles his nose. _"Yes,"_ he grudgingly admits. _"A...person I knew used to make it for me all the time. I think he got the recipe from the Watcher; they tasted the same."_

Thor takes a sip. Kind of fruity. Weird. Bland like dragon fruit.

Not half bad.

Tony downs the bowl in one gulp, probably assuming it was something disgusting. "Huh," he mutters, "Feel better already."

It’s true.

"I’ll be in the front," Heimdall says. "Don’t stay up too late talking. Call me if you need anything."

Thor winces. Rather than ‘anything’, it probably means something that starts with ‘M’ and ends with ‘e’. "Maybe tomorrow morning?" 

It’d been a little too much excitement for one day.

His uncle inclines his head and leaves the room. Thor sighs. He takes another sip of his smoothie.

How does one go about asking their friend about the ancient, magical item they’d had in their basement without sounding like a weirdo? 

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. Tony starts first.

"Hey uh, so this is probably gonna sound really weird, but just bear with me here," Tony takes a breath, then points. "That thing around your neck? Probably magic. And there was a scale that kind of looked like it—you wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you, ‘cause if _that’s_ lost, that definitely spells trouble."

"Oh, this?" He takes the Scale out from behind him and places it on the table. Tony gapes. Thor smiles wryly. "You don’t know the half of it."

* * *

Honestly, if someone asked him what the weirdest part of his life was, there are three things Thor would think of off the top of his head.

One, his uncle actually being an over 3000-year-old survivor of an ancient civilization named Asgard, tasked with the responsibility of watching over the ancient magical artifacts called the Millennium items. Yeah, a lot to unpack there.

Two, being the owner of one of said Millennium items—specifically, the Millennium Puzzle, which houses the spirit of the king of said ancient civilization. Also, he has amnesia and is still in the process of regaining his memories. It’s a work in progress.

Three—

"This is the best day of my life," Thor declares.

Loki snorts. They’re in Loki’s soul room—or at least some extension of it, the details aren’t exactly clear—and Thor is _supposed_ to be practicing summoning his spirit beast. What Loki didn’t tell him was that it’s also the Millennium Puzzle’s ability to summon _any_ monster, and. Well.

Thunder Dragon had come. With friends.

Kuriboh squeaks. Off to the side, a Poki Draco cuddles further into Thunder Dragon’s coils, patting its round tummy as it rolls over for a post-snack nap. It’s using a Watapon for a pillow. The scapegoats—from the Scapegoat card, naturally—bounce around on top of his spirit beast uselessly, and Thor picks one up to run a hand through its fur. Soft.

He lets it go and it tumbles away.

Not _everything_ that had come along is round and fluffy. There are a few cards from Thor’s deck, too—Thunder Dragonhawk snoozing to his left, Aleister the Invoker sitting a bit further away, Thunder Dragonroar _chasing_ Kuriboh, and he thinks they’re playing but he’s not _really_ sure about that one, probably smarter to check before something gets eaten…

"It’s fine, master," Aleister says. He waves his staff. Dragonroar stops, looking suitably like a puppy that’s been chastened, and lets Kuriboh dart away.

It’s still a little odd to speak to beings he’d only ever known as playing cards, but slowly, Thor thinks he’s getting the hang of it. 

He grins. "Thanks."

Loki snorts again and wanders over to the cuddle pile. He climbs Thunder Dragon’s coils and plops down beside him. "You _are_ supposed to be practicing, you know," he murmurs.

"5-minute break?" 

"Pretty sure it’s passed 5 minutes."

" _Loooki_."

" _Thooor,"_ Loki parrots back.

Thor’s mouth twitches. Then, in a surprise attack, he tugs him down with him until they’re a mess of fluff and limbs.

A Scapegoat squeaks and pops out from between them in the fight. Loki’s shoulders quiver with laughter.

Thor shoos it away and tugs him back to him, gentler, and Loki goes. He feels him nuzzle at his chest, ear finding his heart, and Loki sticks there like that’s the house of his soul, not this room. Something mumbles across the bond. It’s soft.

Surely he can hear it—how fast his heart is beating.

Thor holds him, closes his eyes, and rests.

* * *

It’s on no particularly special day that a certain customer enters the shop.

Thor hears the door ring. "Hello, how can I help…you…"

The man who walks in is tall. Put together. Wearing a suit with his hair coiffed to the side. He looks out of place in the crowded game shop.

What’s more significant is around his neck: a golden collar with the symbol of an ouroboros in the center.

_"The Millennium Necklace…"_

The man looks him up and down, unimpressed. "Hm," he says. "Thought you’d be…older. This is so going to mess with the timeline."

"Who’re you?"

The man ignores him. "Call out the spirit."

 _"The Millennium Necklace grants its wielder clairvoyance,"_ Loki says, manifesting beside him. _"He’s rude, but he shouldn’t be an enemy."_

His nose wrinkles. Thor slides his gaze back, but by then, it’s too late—the man’s already noticed the irregularity. 

"Oh, he’s here? That makes it easier."

Loki steps in. "So disrespectful. You do know who you’re talking to, don’t you?"

"You haven’t even established your shadow court yet, and you want to be called king?" The man lifts a brow. "Try again, kid."

Loki twitches. Thor has to physically stop his hand from punching him.

"But you _are_ here."

"Well, future-you’s not half bad, I suppose." The man smiles, sharp. "Dr. Stephen Strange, wielder of the Millennium Necklace. Long story short, a certain someone woke up, way ahead of schedule. Congratulations, your trial’s come early."

Thor frowns. "Who?"

But it’s not Strange who answers them—it’s Heimdall, stepping out from the back room. The Millennium Eye shines in his eye socket.

"Hela."

**Author's Note:**

> Well if anyone was wondering what I was doing for the past like....3.67 months, here it is!!
> 
> I've left it off on a note that can be continued in the future. There's definitely room to expand, and a whole world that has yet to be seen--challenges even Loki will have trouble facing, where it's his turn to need the help of Thor... 
> 
> But, I guess I've been feeling pretty burnt out lately, so this is where it ends. Potentially TBC, but for now marked as completed.
> 
> If you didn't read the beginning notes, the lovely art in the beginning was done by [Tianshi](https://tengokua.tumblr.com/post/189204676057/my-entry-for-the-thorki-big-bang-based-off-of)! She's lovely and every time I talk to her I feel enabled to write all my bad ideas :^) Tiaboo.....................sorry for dragging you into yugioh hell AHAHAHAHAH
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you mods of the 2019 Thorki Big Bang for running the show!


End file.
